newdestination

[newdestination]

[Oh hello, thank you for the comment! Gosh, this is so old to me now... This was actually an art-based rp that we unfortunately never got too far into, haha :) I'm glad people are still getting a kick out of it though!]

Starter for @newdestination​

[newdestination]

Incorrect. The corners of his mouth draw lower at the assertion, frown tensing around the corners of his eyes. He makes no motion to argue the point— he's not particularly inclined to do so— but it clearly isn't sitting right with him. He very furtively feels at the clean lines of his own overcoat, the neat stitching and safety tear-away features built into nearly every seam. The belt isn't even a real belt. That would be a lot of time and planning to lose— he remembers getting it done with Emmet. He's never had false memories before.

...Has he?

Ingo suddenly has a very deep interest in going back home for his journal.

(Now he's utterly certain that Emmet did something to the microwave. Completely ridiculous— he hardly even uses it. Ingo forcefully puts it out of mind again. He'll cross that bridge if there's a second 'mysterious microwave incident'.)

"...Suspiciously nice?" Ingo echoes back, just a touch unsure. The uncertainty isn't something that makes itself present in the tone of his voice, but it's clear just how unsteady the man is in other ways. Hands restlessly shift before settling in an overly-firm grip on the white bag around his shoulder, thumb rolling over the shiny metal clasp in an uneasy motion. It stands out starkly against the rich, flat blacks of his... current uniform, but there's something about it that had been quite pleasing when they'd unearthed it from storage, so he simply opted to keep using it. It may be white, but it's his name delicately embroidered into the interior. And he does quite like the color, as much as he finds himself fretting over stains and scuffs. "Yes, I'm quite sure. It's just lunch, Em."

Tk-tk-tk... Nobori— Ingo patiently waits for a response. One that doesn't seem to be especially forthcoming, with the way his brother hunkers over to dig into the neatly packed lunch. He hesitantly withdraws his own from the bag when a response doesn't seem to be immediate— maybe he'd misjudged the urgency of the situation? He'd been quite certain that Emmet would just trailblaze past any indication of food at the mention of a problem.

"...Pardon, but did you hear me?”

His head tipped a few degrees to the side. "Nope. Incorrect." If Ingo wasn't messing with him, maybe his memory was just that bad? It might be a bigger issue than he'd first assumed if he was even getting mixed up about recent events. That was sure to get annoying at some point if it kept up but right now, Emmet was going to jump a the opportunity to use it as an advantage. Though he was sure he'd fixate on it and over-worry about his brother's condition a bit later. Probably in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep and unable to find complete relief or comfort in the fact that the pair had been reunited because if Ingo could vanish once, doesn't that mean it could happen again-

But he wasn't going to focus on that right now!

"Nevermind!" He chirped. "Nothing happened to the microwave. I was just testing your memory! Since you seemed confused about the uniforms." Nod, nod. "But you passed! Yup!" He clapped for a few seconds before eagerly accepting the food in his hands. He'd always been so bad at remembering to eat- especially during work hours- so he was always grateful to have Ingo to remember for him. Even if some things had changed, he was glad that that hadn't changed... much.

He couldn't help but stare down at the box's contents in baffled awe, completely tuning out the tail-end of whatever his brother had been asking him. This was a bit fancier than what he was used to. Not that he was complaining! It was just surprising when he was used to being brought fast food or leftovers from home.

He picked at one of the sliced haban berries, not bothering to remove his gloves beforehand. The black fabric was a lot harder to truly stain than the rest of his usual attire. He squinted at the fruit between his fingers before popping it in his mouth, immediately making a little "mmm" noise and licking his lips.

"...are you surrrrre you are not messing with me?" If he was, the layers of this scheme were way more complex than to what Emmet was used to. Impressively so, quite honestly! "This is nice. Really nice. Suspiciously nice."

[newdestination]

"Certainly! It is my pleasure to assist!" The man tips his hat.

"Not all of the backlogged reports come from individuals located within our home station— though it would be an ideal place to start. I see many of our residents on a routine basis." He and his brother may not have a perfect recall of every challenger to grace the end of the simple lines, but even pokémon that hadn't made the cut are often memorable in hindsight of the recordings. Ingo politely accepts the presented journal as he talks, delicately thumbing open to the first page with an inquisitive eye. The care that's gone into the little book itself is reassuring for the prospects of this visit— charming even, he'd say, were it not for the matter at hand. "And rest assured, Gear Station will gladly welcome you back for any future investigations on the matter. For the time being, I'd appreciate it if you could look over a few things." 'A few' might be something of a drastic understatement. "Now," Gloved hands carefully offer the journal back to its rightful owner. "If you'll follow me, miss." Ingo brushes the nonexistent dust off of the front of his uniform as he turns in a sharp snap, pointing down and away from all of the train tracks encircling the area. The design of the door makes it blend in near seamlessly with the surrounding wall, and the large and bold EMPLOYEES ONLY text stricken across the face calls it out as somewhere clearly not for public use. It'll be a short bit of walking, but it's the closest access point to both his own office and the records storage— which quite honestly is the entire reason he'd chosen to meet in this spot in the first place, work schedules and time-sucking battle stations aside.

  Concordia does her utmost best to tune out the sound of the call, however fleeting the conversation was at her arrival; the last thing she needed to do here was make a bad first impression by eavesdropping on her first meeting. Meeting Ingo's gaze, she nods deeply, taking in a silent and deep breath before addressing the questions posed to her.

"That is correct. I must thank you for accepting our offer of assistance. It is my hope that we will be able to lend our... unique insights to a cause worth pursuing."

  Not wishing to waste the man's time, she shifts the letter to one hand, plunging the other into her skirt pocket to retrieve a small journal, visibly worn but carefully maintained. Offering the book if he wished to take a closer look, she tucks the letter away into the very pocket she'd just emptied.

"While I have no certainty about the whole of the cases, I have been working on compiling a log of known cases of 'liberation' that took place here in Nimbasa, to start. I shall be happy to tell you more detail on what I know of these and others, as well as any other questions you may have."

[newdestination]

if you had to completely redesign ONE canon thing of your character, be it something about their look, personality or backstory, what would you choose?

[Man i think i already have not going to lie. The outfit change was mostly for recognizability and funpoints in the rpc but i sure did give him an entirely new uniform.]

[newdestination]

Nobori lists beneath the weight of Glion for a single tenuous moment as the campfire gutters to life, chin tucked over the affectionate curl of hard carapace about his neck. "Sorry! Sorry— he can be a bit enthusiastic." Luminous yellow eyes flit between the other pokémon at the sudden upset sweeping across the clearing, the pleased ck-ckck-chk-ck rattling out into a low, taunt silence.

Murmured words catch along the curve of Nobori's ear as he juggles items between Glion's heft and the messy ground, a touch too indistinct past the twisting sound of the wind. He sends a glance askance, uncertainty caught.

"...Pardon me?"

Fascinating.

Ah.

That's never good.

Something strange curdles in the pit of his chest at the word, caught somewhere low in his throat. This wasn't his best idea, he belatedly recognizes.

Nobori is no stranger to hiding through his pokémon in the span of his relatively short memory, and for the time being Glion makes for quite the pleasant distraction. Idle fingers find their way beneath its jaw, clay pot tucked neatly beneath his arm. "...Come now— go find Goriky for me. Dinner is soon." The words are spoken kindly, but broker little negotiation in their solidity. It's a wholly unnecessary arrangement— he knows that Goriky keeps to a fine-tuned schedule, but it suddenly seems like a poor choice to leave him be at camp alone. Nobori would have to be daft to not notice the upset that swept through at Glion's entrance— just a bit too much energy, and no great chances to burn it off. A little running about would do it well. Guard work can be quite dull.

The pokémon in mention catches the mountain breeze with an enviable ease at the click of Nobori's tongue, its dark wingspan casting a long shadow across his form for only a scant few moments as it coasts higher into the air. He spends just a scant moment watching Glion disappear over the treetops, thumbs tracing the lip of the pot held to his chest.

Nobori offers Seki a tight approximation of a smile, the corners of his mouth wrought tense like the bars of an iron gate. It's... more akin to a grimace than anything in all honesty, the edges fraying beneath the pressure. His face seems to reject the very notion of a smile— Nobori himself certainly doesn't seem to be much aware of it, or it's doubtful he'd be making that expression in the first place. It's positively dreadful. "I—suppose. I'll be off just a moment, if you don't mind." His feet ache with the fresh memory of the day's labor, but he pays it little mind in light of the task ahead— Nobori is quite sure that there's a small spring nearby...

"Jibacoil, with me." With Glion off of his back it's far easier to relocate the contents of the pot elsewhere, neatly shaken clean and ready for proper use.

Nobori was... weird.

He said a lot of things that Seki couldn't really wrap his head around - especially when it came to Pokemon. He really wasn't sure what to make of that if he was being honest with himself.

Seki made a noise of uncertainty, muttering under his breath a confused, "Type...commonalities...? What's that mean? Wouldn't a Showers be worse up there where it's cold?" All that went right over Seki's head. He understood the basics of Pokemon - some were stronger than others against others, but... wouldn't water be worse in the tundra?

What a strange guy.

But he seemed pretty knowledgeable... or maybe he was just talking out of his ass. Seki really wasn't sure which it was considering how earnestly Nobori spoke. He didn't just want to blindly listen to him after all, no matter how much Seki enjoyed his company and conversation. That was just commonsense.

Oh well... it isn't like anything Tsubaki says makes sense. I can just nod and pretend I understand like I do with him.

"My Pokemon have plenty of opinions about what I can do... but I'm not going to just sit here on my hands and let you do all the work." Seki huffed as he pushed himself to his feet, his Pokemon not chasing after him. He could handle making a campfire, they had plenty of debris and branches from their cleanup to raid for it, and it helped lessen their load when it came to dispose of it.

He was in the middle of striking the flint and steel, sparks flying and dry leaves and thin shavings of wood catching and curling as glowing crimson kissed the edges when there was a rush of wind and something large landed on Nobori. For a moment, his heart stopped.

Seki's Pokemon, once relaxing and nearly dozing off despite Seki's moving of them, bolted upright and Seki fumbled the flint and steel. "Nobori--" He stood, his Pokemon crowding around him with their ears pinned back and the fur on their backs bristled in an attempt to make themselves look bigger than they were.

The Glion was big and dangerous -- at least, that was the initial assessment until they all realized how affectionate it seemed to be. Nobori wasn't frightened, but fond, and Seki's arms fell limply to his sides, shoulders sagging. His Pokemon, seeing his distress change to confusion, eased up their own tension as well, watching Glion warily.

"Wha--" Seki rubbed a palm to his eyes, squinting. "That's your companion?" He asked, disbelief tinting his words. "Nobori, you are..." He floundered for the words, uncertain of how to best describe the man.

Terrifying? Amazing?

How did one describe someone who could so easily tame something like a Glion? He had so many strong Pokemon, and he was starting to wonder only now what kind of draw he had that these Pokemon could trust and listen to him so easily?

"Fascinating." He finally found the word. He stayed where he was, the fire slowly crackling to life as a breeze blew life into the small embers that had caught in the pile of leaf litter that acted as kindling for their campfire. He eyed the Glion warily, a hand curling at his throat in a nervous gesture. "You're something else." The words are accompanied by a light laugh, though he isn't even sure if it's a nervous laugh or a delighted one.

[newdestination]

[-]

[newdestination]

"…Thank you..?" It just keeps getting worse the more he hears it. This is going to haunt him into next week. Are they being genuine?

Surely not…?

Well. No matter, he supposes.

"I think your style is quite nice as well! Very iconic!" Black and white is rather notable, at least to his own perception.

He may be just a touch biased. Just a little.

"Are you... cosplaying anything yourself, then?" The unfamiliarity around the term is clear in Ingo's voice, but he's genuine enough in his own returned inquiry. There's certainly a sort of... theme(?) happening with the stranger. He's not entirely sure what it's about, but it's not too difficult to miss. Most people do not go through the same exacting pains as himself and his brother when it comes to colors.

@newdestination

[ cont. ]

..wow this guy talks way more than he first thought, huh.

There is a moment in which he half-considers just turning around and leaving right there and then, staying only when the guy mentions the cute lady who likes bugs. Welp, now he feels almost bad about it. He gotta stay in her good list, so he might as well say something nice to. This. Fuckin'.

Subway surfer whatever.

"I mean. It's a banger post-apocalypse Subway worker mime costume, I guess."

As good as they come.

[newdestination]

[@splicedskies replied...]

[ All the while Altra is just listening with wide eyes as Ingo goes on.. and on… and on… ]

...And on... and on...

"—And steam engines, of course, operate on a completely different principle. The gradual switch was made due to the difference in upkeep— steam locomotives were ultimately cheaper to produce, but the cost of running one quickly added up when placed against the more modern diesel engine's crew and maintenance requirements, not to mention the fuel costs and—"

"Servicing steam engines was quite the costly affair, you see. Most of those still in operation in Unova today are by and large feasible primarily through public support, and are more of a special service in the interest of historical preservation or national importance, such as—"

And on...

[newdestination]

[ @gnzma ]

"okay real talk why d'ya cosplay as a post apocalypse. i dunno ringleader? mime???"

"Cosplay as… a post-apocalypse ringleader mime…?" …does he look like a mime??? Surely not.

Right?

"Well, I suppose you could say we are… subway ringleaders?" He does not sound very sure of himself. "Recognizability and maintaining a respectable appearance is important here at Gear Station— passengers need to be able to clearly find who to speak to for assistance! This is our current uniform."

"…You may have to send in a formal inquiry to miss Elesa about the design specifics, if you want to know anything else. I'm afraid I wasn't personally involved in that particular process." They don't really seem the sort to follow through with something like that, but he makes note of the option to the stranger anyways.

...

Post-apocalypse ringleader mime...

[newdestination]

☕

"Oh, talk about anything at all...?"

"Well, if you really don't mind, I suppose."

"I'm sure you're familiar with... well. Hm." Maybe not, actually. Best start somewhere else...

"Have you... heard of the UL-1 diesel trains?" Ingo begins somewhat tentatively, voice bent low like a secret shared. It's somewhat jarring to hear him so quiet. "They were primarily produced by GyL Co.— That would be Gyarados Locomotives, if it rings a bell. Backed by the League, actually!" And there goes his volume control. Record time.

"This was all a few decades ago, of course. You certainly won't find any of them still in operation here in Unova as of today— though, a few models were recently bought by Kanto's rail system, so we may be seeing them back in their full glory in the coming years. Personally, I'm a little worried about the reliability of the model— they look quite appealing and modern even to today's standards, but they frequently have issues with the engines on account of an ongoing labor strike and a time crunch to stay competitively viable against the PTL— ah, that's Pikaexpress Transport Logistics—" Is he even stopping to breathe?

"—which is part of the reason why so few are still in existence in a functional state. Unreliability resulted in most of them being scrapped, but the beauty of the design itself has lent quite well to miniature reproductions! I've actually found recently that I own the toy model myself! It even comes with a soundboard— have you ever heard the horn of one? It's quite flat and crisp for the make standards at the time." Needless to say, Ingo's done a lot of brushing up since his return.

"And, this may sound strange coming from myself, but I quite prefer trains without those bold, flat-front faces the more modern varieties of subway and passenger trains most always ubiquitously have. The old steam locomotives have a special sort of charm in their silouhette— oh, the aerodynamic nose of the Johto Maglev has it's own appeal too, I would say. You see quite a good deal of that sort of design in high-speed rails. The UL-1 and UL-2 have quite a nice front, too. It's a bit flat, but the control cab being offset from the rest of the nose gives it some nice interest."

"Oh, and—" Ingo abruptly flips on his heel, leaving the front door wide open. He reemerges only a few minutes later with a relatively new-looking book packed from end to end in stickynote annotations. They peek from between the folds, the fore edge warped from the additions. When Ingo opens the book an entire set of stapled and folded pages tucked near the spine tries to spring free— "Just a moment, if you'll look here—" he neatly presses it back in as he flips to a page near the end.

"Now, the more modern construction of these sorts of engines—"

[newdestination]

“Hello neighbor.” They are reading off of a clipboard. “Do you enjoy helping out your community? If so, I have a deal for you. Introducing, skull scouts.” They hold up a box of cookies in their other hand. “We are a nonprofit community using the money you donate to enrichen the lives of those less fortunate. Would you like to buy a box of Skull Roulette cookies for the mere price of ten dollars?”

Half of the cookies are filled with caramel. The other half are filled with takis honey hot sauce. There is no physical indication of the difference between the two. That’s what makes them roulette cookies.

"Hello to you as well… neighbor?" He's quite certain they're not neighbors, given that he doesn't live in the area, but it's only polite… right? Ingo opts to disregard the fact that Ree is quite obviously reading from the clipboard in their hands.

"Oh, I don't see why not. I believe I've the full amount in cash… just a moment." Skull Roulette cookies… the name sounds a bit ominous, but he's met a few of the folks that've been walking about calling themselves team Skull. They seemed pleasant enough after a brief battle, if not a touch silly. It's quite the sweet initiative to be making, really! Ingo digs out a crisp ten dollar bill to pass off in exchange for the box without a hint of hesitation.

He isn't entirely sure what to expect when he opens the box to actually try one, but it certainly isn't what he actually digs into. A sudden heat bites into his mouth, the entire experience honestly not too unlike a spicy poffin.

Jokes on the roulette, Ingo loves spicy foods.

…Sweets, not quite as much.

The spice-heat sits warm in the pit of his chest; the unexpected honey tang to the hot sauce-infused treat has him scrunching his nose, still in the process of deciding whether or not he actually likes it still. "…Are hot pastries popular around here?"

Ingo stops to mull it over, box still in hand. It's not terrible…

"Say, Emmet—?"

Oh no.

"Would you care to try some of the local treats? They're running a charity—"

Ingo loves spice. Emmet…

Well.

[newdestination]

[Starting to put some of those ramble asks into the queue. They'll start coming out in order of when i got them over time :) ty to everyone who sent one by me!]

[newdestination]

"Ah— you have?" Gear Station is a near ubiquitous presence in Nimbasa City, but that's only a given— it feels like an entirely different thing to have the name recognized here. "Well, I suppose one could posit that. The system is arranged to provide participants with a progressively more difficult challenge�� we're primarily geared towards experienced individuals looking for something beyond the league-provided battle route."

…Maybe actual competitive interest in something past the league is an inappropriate assumption for him to be making about a trainer he doesn't know. Some people struggle quite badly with the Battle Subway, from what he's seen.

Well, many people.

…Most.

There are a lot of reoccurring faces. Not a bad thing by any means! It's a delight of his to see the drive of everyone to reach greater heights. But he really wouldn't want to accidentally discourage someone...

"Oh— the gym challenge is a perfectly serviceable route to take, as well! Most people complete it before coming to the subway. Miss Elesa runs the gym in Nimbasa City— Plenty of individuals begin their challenge in Striaton, but hers is just as fine a location!"

"The Battle Subway...?"

They stop and stare for a moment. Ingo can probably see the gears in Hau's mind turning.

"Wait, I know that place! I've seen it online!! You're like, super strong battle wise, right?" Aaaand there it is. His curiousity is taking over.

[newdestination]

"Excuse my choice of word, then. Snap decisions, if you will." The stranger does not seem well to his uncertain eyes, from the jitter that Ingo is practically feeling from across the room to the unceremonious… outburst they've hardly had the time to even get over, let alone forget. Their words still ring in the back of his mind, cracking through the tracks of his racing thoughts.

Not to mention the face they're making. There's something a bit unnerving about it, despite how quickly he's pulled himself back together. Hastily may be a better word.

"Ah, I did not mean to imply that your own partner ought to…" Ingo flounders for a beat, attention caught by the sudden release of the aforementioned pokémon. It isn't quite to the scale of an Alpha, but it's certainly sizable in its own respect. He often makes an effort to avoid honchkrow, if only so as to not find himself in the centerfolds of a bustling flock of murkrow in search of a target. They're perfectly fine to contend with in a one on one setting, but the greater the numbers… It's just odd to see one so close without it being one he's already deeply familiar with, is all.

"Oh, safety first, please! If there is precautionary equipment provided, there is certainly a reason for it!" His attention is completely diverted at the suggestion. Words reflexively snap out of him before he even really takes a moment to consider them, gently chiding in tone. He doesn't normally wear one in the air, but given the option— well, Ingo was never one to attempt to avert safety protocols without good reason.

"…Right. Of course— rent a charizard," he belatedly adds. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind— though Gliscor, to be frank, is not a comfortable option for long term flight. But… it's feasible enough contrary to the expectations of his clanmates. He hadn't even stopped to consider the potential of safer modern amenities, hand resting on the hand-carved shell of one of his team's pokeballs.

(…The sight of the keys is, if nothing else, certainly enough to reassure him in some sense. He must work here, or something to that affect.)

Ingo navigates to attempt to call Nanu as he follows the way they had pointed, plucking the small object up off of the desk as the quiet ringtone goes off. "…Excuse me, we— Emmet, please return the phone to the officer— We've a visitor, and… Yes, there's someone else here," He is cut off by a rush of crackling sound, the xtrans held close to his chest as he investigates the small gray pager, twisting it about in his hand.

"I've the money to pay for it myself. There's no need… to. . ." Ingo trails off.

…

He has absolutely no idea how to operate this.

There's no convenient paper nearby with the instructions, nor is it simply embedded into the plastic like some other things he's seen with niche functionality. Ingo flips it over one last time for good measure, half an ear cast towards the hijacked call on his wrist. Just a dark screen, and a small selection of buttons. None of them seem to do anything until he stumbles over one and the thing jolts with a flicker of light from the screen.

Alright. Well. It's on. Now what..?

"—Yes, my head is feeling better. Everything is fine, I promise." Which, in all fairness, is hardly a lie. His head does feel better than it had before his nap, if only marginally so. There's still a deep, persistent ache that resonates through the curve of his eye and the back of his head that beats like the roll of a drum, but— it's fine. Just fine. Either it'll go away or it won't, but the strange man behind him certainly doesn't seem ready to pull the brakes on this whole debacle anytime soon. "I just need to tell you that me and… pardon me— what's your name, sir?"

The gambler feels the air of foreign discomfort, but the awareness of his situation and surroundings takes a backburner as his mind is a bit too distracted and nearly overwhelmed with deafening, overlapping dialogue. That's the thing with Grimsley, he has a bad habit with constantly seeking out distractions, especially during troubling times like these. His hand shoots out to roughly grab the doorknob and twist it, nearly sloppily flinging the door open as he just barely slows his pace to avoid the look of him impulsively rushing out of the room. He doesn't want to appear like he's not in control. He's in denial of the very concept.

"Drastic measures~? Nothing here sounds drastic to me~!" Words of a very rational person. "I am as rational as a man can be, my friend~!" Grimsley says with tone-deaf enthusiasm. A hint of wildness flashing in his eyes only matching the nearly unhinged grin strewn across his face as he walks towards the station's exit with an automatic pace, only slightly turning while still walking at the prospect of the other tagging along. His expression tones itself down a little while glancing back at the other. The mask, no matter how broken, will always instinctively attach to his face.

...Well. Of all the impulsive decisions Grimsley has made under a not-so sound mind, this certainly doesn't even begin to come close to one of the worst.

"Hah~! Are you sure about that? My Honchkrow may be much bigger than the average, but I doubt he won't go squawking mad at the prospect of trying to carry the two of us~!" His voice is a little too high in comparison to his usual lighthearted banter, a little too high to truly hide the underlying stiffness. It frustrates him, he's supposed to pride himself in being able to hide behind an impenetrable mask.

The door leading out of the station finally opens, though with the same lack of coordination as the previous one. His other hand smoothly reaches into his yukata and swiftly pulls out a small pair of keys. Ah, so that's how he got in... The keys effortlessly spin around his index finger. "No matter~! If you truly want to come with, I can rent you a ride Charizard from the pager instead~ There should be a device to call one on the desk over there." He points behind himself, towards what looks like a dark gray remote with a clear Pokéball attached to it. Though the gambler has his doubts that Ingo will actually tag along, here.

"Since you're fixated on safety, the regulations of ride Pokémon say that they should come with a helmet and requires you to wear it. Though if you don't wish to wear it, well."

"...I won't tell anyone if you won't~"

He pulls a small Great Ball out of his yukata, releasing a rather large-looking Honchkrow outside, the bird nearly matches the gambler's own height. It seems Grimsley isn't planning on stopping his pace any time soon, but if the other needs any help with operating the Alolan device, he supposes he can give instructions.

[newdestination]

[Type chart meme I made a few weeks ago and then completely forgot to put up on the blog.]

[newdestination]

[Spent most of today drawing and chasing my own tail in circles. Hopefully I'll have the focus to actually get to my asks and rps tomorrow after I've relocated a tree in our backyard. ^_^ ]

[newdestination]

☕ + food in hisui vs food in sinnoh!

"Ah, the food..?" Ingo taps a finger against his chin.

"Well, to be quite honest, I haven't had much of a chance to really experiment with the more modern Sinnohan delicacies. Much of it has left me feeling quite ill— It's been something of an adjustment period, something about the change in production processes I've been told… I avoid eating out in Unova for many of the same reasons. I've been giving my brother something of a headache with the shopping, I'm sure." He himself makes most of their food these days, breakfast lunch and dinner alike. His digestive system has been slowly adapting back to a more modern palate, at least.

Definitely not enough for those strange street vendor hotdogs, though. Ingo had tried them once, when he'd only just returned and Emmet seemed so… excited about it. He really, really should have known better.

"Either way though, I'd say I do still quite like it when available! It retains some measure of familiarity, though I can't say much the same for any resemblance to actual Hisuian food."

"It's… just different, I suppose? If anything, modern cuisine in Sinnoh is just the sort of fare Jubilife brought over when they'd first established themselves. They were quite obstinate about how 'food should really be made.'" Or maybe that was just Beni. It's not as though he'd been invited in for meals beyond the occasional proposition from Zisu or a scant few Corps members.

"Oh, they don't really seem to do ruibe anymore, at least where I had been— ah, it's a little like sashami but frozen and… less… pomp? Preparation? It's just frozen koikingu— hm— magikarp we'd left buried in the snow to preserve it. You aren't really supposed to let it completely thaw out. Sashami is fine, I just find I prefer the texture when it's half-thawed. That, and they never have any fira-pi sauce. I suppose you'd call it figy-pep? Cheri is fine, but it doesn't really have the same profile."

"…Emmet told me we shouldn't be eating fish raw here in Unova, else i'd probably still indulge. He mentioned looser regulations and diseases in mass-fishing operations."

"And parasites."

"..."

"On that particular note, I've had to change how I prepare citatep as well— you really ought to leave the head and any cartilage in if you make it, by the by. The point of it is to use the whole organism, not to just cut out half your meal. It doesn't make it any worse."

"Oh, sorry. I guess I've derailed from the original point, haven't I?"

"Ultimately, it's a world of small differences that make quite a large disparity in the end result. There are plenty of foods that look familiar in Sinnoh, but are made of completely different things… I'm never putting their dumplings anywhere near my engine ever again. I suppose I just ought to be glad that they no longer prepare ringuma in anything. It was important for quite a few reasons nobody seems to recall anymore."